Precious baby Jesus,

Heaven’s holy little Lamb.

God incarnate,

infant I Am.

The same powerful hands

that once sprinkled the stars in the sky,

now battered against the night’s air

with a newborn’s cry.

The tiny king asleep

in a manger for a cradle.

No castle to welcome Him,

just a humble innkeeper’s stable.

The same mighty breaths

that once gave man life,

now softly sighed against the cheeks

of a carpenter’s virgin wife.

Cattle, sheep and donkeys lazily gazed on

 as the evening continued to unfurl.

They watched as their creator was nursed

by a loving peasant girl.

The same timeless eyes

that once saw the sun cast into its’ place,

now struggled to focus

on a new mother’s cooing face.

The townspeople slept in the comforts of their beds

 unaware,

that their infant Savior rested on hay in a city

with no room to spare.

The same eternal ears

that once enjoyed the music of angels of on high,

now relished in the melody

of gentle maternal lullaby.

Holy night, awesome night,

 a glorious Savior born!

Modest night,

quietly welcoming Him without riches to adorn.

Little Redeemer,

come to rescue our souls from danger.

Our humble, precious Majesty,

 in a manger.

From the Whispered Reflections collection
Copyright 2005
www.windowsofgraceonline.com

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